


Red and Blue

by luridCavum, toastyCadenza



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Symbolism, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luridCavum/pseuds/luridCavum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastyCadenza/pseuds/toastyCadenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From an early age, we're shown that blood is red. But can't it also be blue? Blue while you watch it race under the skin. Blue when you stop breathing. Maybe that's what he's looking for, maybe he's a little too Red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> [EDIT 3:28PM EST 6/17/12 - formatting update by [toastyCadenza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toastyCadenza/)]

The crows outside his bedroom window cawed their beleaguering squawks, all eager to communicate with one another in their unique, feathery way. On the other side of the glass, however, was a situation entirely opposite; A lanky boy of nearly sixteen lay on his bed, his fingers knitted together and tucked behind his head. He stared at the creamy white ceiling, though it seemed dimmer through the shadows of the sunglasses perched over his eyes. He had worn his perfectly rounded sunglasses, even indoors, for years now. Ironically, of course. It had to be ironic.

Dave dragged in a long breath, feeling it spread to his lungs and rest there, a butterfly's kiss from the inside. He could almost feel the blood pulsing just under his skin, the steady rhythm of the red racing back and forth. But blood could be blue, too, couldn't it? It was blue in the blood of the monarchs and the royalty; blue under the skin of those better than you. It was blue when you watched it race under the skin, until it kissed the senses and absorbed the brilliant rays of the sun. It was blue when you felt your pulse and begged it to slow down. There was an irony in there, Dave could almost taste the salt of it on his dry lips.

Blood was red when it hurt, red when you saw it, red when it tore. It was tainting and marring your skin and leaving soft scars, leaving it imperfect. Leaving it worse than before. There was most certainly an irony there.

He let out the air, the pressure in his lungs growing unbearable. His breath seemed to linger above him, as if it were expecting something else to come with it, as if it were missing something. It donned on him then, the little knot of tension that was sitting in his stomach, between his fingers, and at his lips. He rolled over, his bed giving off a quiet creak, and reached a lazy yet ambitious hand to the cinder-block supported desk beside him. His fingers curled around the small blue and white box of Marlboro's, and the knot loosened just a fraction. After a moment of searching, he pulled one out instinctively and flicked the lighter to one end.

The smoke and burning menthol passed his lips with ease, and instantaneously the clench streaming through his entire body uncurled. The aroma that followed was familiar, it was a comfort inside the fog of his own head. He pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead, squinting slightly to adjust to the new filter of light on his eyes. A curl of his lips and an almost impatient huff sent a smoke ring dancing towards the ceiling, watching intently as it shifted and spread until it was little more than a memory. Dave closed his eyes slowly, his lids heavier than he had realized. He continued his actions, repeating until it was burning into his muscle memory: take a drag, make a smoke ring, watch it curl, breathe, repeat. He tapped the ashes into a small tray on his desk, watching the embers glow and fade just out of focus. His fingers were slow, gentle even, as if it were made of glass. Or maybe he was.

When the cigarette resting between his fingers burned out, he crushed it, tossing the remains somewhere about his room. His eyelids were impossibly heavy now, and he obliged by letting them slip shut, and Dave fell into the comatose and temporary darkness of sleep.  
He awoke with a slight jolt, and the first thing he registered was that his body was slick with perspiration, and exceedingly cold. He didn't wake out of shock or fear, as it often wound up to be. Instead, he woke out of the familiar explosion of endorphins spreading through his head and body- not to mention his hips. Of course, as a growing teenager, things like this wasn't unexpected. His response, after checking to find his bed comfortably dry, was to revel in the fleeting feeling.

He was a teenage boy, and he had acknowledged that most of his peers had fantasies involving overdeveloped breasts. He also knew, though, that he was not a heterosexual teenage boy. He couldn't remember the details of the dream, but moments flashed under his eyelids like hummingbird wings. His body is slick and moist and he's entirely naked. Dave ran his hands over the other man's chest, his skin hot and impossibly soft despite the slight muscles building. His fingers trailed up, from the man's hips, to his torso, chest, neck, and finally to his face. He had long features, slightly bucked teeth- which were by no means unattractive- and his brilliantly sky-blue eyes were kept behind a thin layer of wire and glass. With a hesitant gesture, Dave went to move the glasses from the face of his lover. While he did, the other man took his sunglasses away from Dave's eyes, leaving them exposed and the whole world a little bit brighter.

Without his glasses, there was normally a hole in his chest, an ache for the thin, shadowy protection. Everything was more clear, and a little bit brighter. His eyes want and desire was laid onto his features as if they were painted their. Painted in the red of blood and the black of shadow. He liked the darkness in slight, when his vision was colored over with liquid black. It made the red hues on his person deeper, ore like the blood that pulsed and swam and shot through his veins. There was a comfort about it, something he couldn't quite place. It was a reminder, that he himself is a little bit darker than he appears to be, a little bit more red.

But his lover, whose face he recognized even the blurry cave of a dream, paid no heed. He smiled, laughing with hot breath circling Dave's skin, making him hyper-aware of the lips that it traveled from. Dave squeezed his eyes shut, and brought their faces together. Their lips danced, an explosion of euphoria in that moment alone, leaving them red and pink and swollen and Dave so, so aroused. Tongues snaked and twisted, tasting salty skin and desire and want and need and love all kept in a small package that was Dave. His lover moved his mouth, out to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and down again. Another shot of arousal for the red boy.

And just like that, the memory faded, leaving Dave out of breath, his surely dilated eyes staring at the ceiling. It was too bright for his liking, he thought as he fumbled around until his fingers stroked the familiar wire rim of his sunglasses. He slipped them back on with ease; His mask was back in place.

The knot in his stomach had reawakened in his sleep, and with a groan he found another cigarette and lit it against his lips. He focused on the flame this time, how it charred the white and blue and left it a crumple of ash and scolding ember. He watched it bend and fall, leaving in it's place a small drop of smoke, which fluttered and faded in a moment.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw his computer screen flicker and blink with the familiar pixelized symbol for pesterchum messages. Taking another long drag, Dave hoisted himself off his bed ans sauntered over to the computer. His shirt was twisted and stuck uncomfortably, and he was still chilled from the beads of sweat coating his skin. There was a weight pressing on his chest, like no matter how hard he breathed he couldn't get enough air, smoke-filled or otherwise. As he situated himself in his navy-blue desk chair, a message from his best friend, John Egbert, awaited him, blinking impatiently. A light smile flitted across his features at the small, blue text.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

EB: hey dude where were you today?

Dave took a moment to register the question as it stared at him; The thousands of pixels seemed to mock him as they hardly scratched the surface of his subconscious comprehension. Oh, right. Ri-ight. He had been planning on going to school today. Evidently, though, smoke and sleep had prevailed in that aspect. Dave let out a sigh, a fraction of the weight on his chest lifting. He breathed in the cigarette smoke again, blowing a puff towards the computer screen. He could almost see Egbert's nose wrinkle in distaste towards the white cancer stick between his fingers.

TG: hey man sorry but i just got caught as fuck in the sick hellfires of these ill new rhymes im working on

This was easy. Dave couldn't place exactly where the thought had sprung from, but as soon as he had heard it echo in his head, he knew it was true. This was easy: laying in bed, sleeping, smoking the day away. All with the protection of his trusted sunglasses, even around himself. It was certainly easier than going out, facing the world with his hidden head held high. His thoughts broke with a puff of smoke and a blinking orange light.

TG: like  
TG: i had to fuckin take the rhymes to the er theyre so ill  
TG: the doctors cant identify the ill cells of these rhymes  
TG: so the rhymes are just in the er like yo fuck im so ill im dying  
TG: and im not even sure insurance can cover these ill ass  
TG: rhymes  
TG: so ill probably have to pull the plug on them  
TG: and weep for the death of such sweet ill rhymes  
TG: so yeah basically shit just got away from me sorry bro  
EB: haha lame.  
EB: bro i don't think your raps are as cool as you think they are.  
EB: but hey. you've been out a lot lately...  
EB: are you doing okay?  
EB: hello???  
TG: hey  
TG: sorry duty calls  
TG: sometimes shit just comes to me and  
TG: i cant keep the rythm in  
TG: but yeah im doing fine no worries  
TG: i got blogs to run too you know cant keep the public waiting  
EB: ok... we still on for tomorrow?  
TG: hells YES were still on for tomorrow  
TG: you really think id pass up a pizza and movie night with my best bro  
EB: awesome!  
EB: oh hey, i gotta go.  
EB: the foul stench of the batterwitch means my dad must be home. not to mention baking.  
TG: alright later  
EB: see ya.  


\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

With that lackluster farewell of the two friends, Dave was once again left with his own thoughts. The cigarette between his fingers had long-since burn out. Irony, he was sure, that he had almost entirely forgotten about it during his conversation with John. He tossed the useless cigarette to the floor, not bothering to note where it landed. There were several dead butts scattered about his room already, little ashen snowflakes leaving scorch marks littering his hardwood floor. He stood, rubbing his surprisingly cold feet together, before making his way to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, he took his sunglasses off and placed them on the sink, before stripping away his signature dark red tee-shirt. In front of him rested nothing more than a piece of glass coated in reflective lacquer. And yet, with it he could see himself. His eyes were the darkest of red, the kind of red you associated with blood, with pain above all. There were a few other bits of red floating about his torso, nothing too serious, most from a few sword-skirmished with his brother. His skin was pale and creamy; If he had darker hair, he could have passed for a male Snow White, with no prince to come in and save him.

My god, just look at you. The voice in his head was a low growl, but there was a sharp bite to it. It reminded Dave of swords clashing against a block of wood. Ironically... Somehow. Oh, will you shut up with that irony crap? You're not fooling anyone. You can't even fool yourself. His own eyes became steely parallel to the glass. My god, you are pathetic. His voice was dripping, positively dripping, with pure, relentless hatred. Look at you. You're a worthless little whore. There's nothing special about you, absolutely nothing. You're trying to be cool, trying so damn hard for everyone to like you. But it's not enough is it? No, no it's not. Even John admits it, little red.

Look at yourself. Look at yourself in those disgusting little eyes of yours. It's no wonder you hide them, really. It's no wonder you're caught up in a web you spun yourself into. You're made out of cheap raps and crappy old sunglasses, aren't you? What are you trying to prove, little red? That you're being yourself? No, actually. That's not really you.That was never you.

But it doesn't matter, does it? Who you 'really' are, right? I mean, if you were really 'yourself', well, no one would cast a second glance at you, would they? They would walk on by. They wouldn't care, not one of them. Not even John. Not even your 'best bro'. He wouldn't think twice. How about that, little red?

Dave could almost feel the hatred rushing through his body, piercing him right in the heart with a sword sharper than any he's used the skirmish with. The only thing he was coherent enough to think was red. Just red. He was red. Little red, the voice in his head affirmed coyly.

The itch tugging at his fingertips and lungs had grown impossibly stronger during his mental... spiel. And in a short matter of minutes, another cigarette was smoldered away with a flick of a lighter and a breath of not-so-fresh air.

**Author's Note:**

> Merrrr yeah so here's the first chapter and I swear I'll update this eventually  
> yupp  
> ^courtney (lettuceCameos) wrote this.  
> by this i mean the end note as well as most of the passage to begin with, but i (toastyCadenza) merely offered a few ideas and input as well as fixed the characterization in the pesterlogs. er, i guess i completely rewrote them but!!!! !! 1!!! yeah the bulk of the credit goes to that stellar broad.  
> courtney's writing is really super good and it's jsut great and i love it adn i hope you do too ok  
> but i coded the whole thing ok omg pesterlogs are a bitch to code wow???i t took like 3 tries after if inally figured it out wowie wow wowza pow


End file.
